


I Will Follow You Into The Dark

by indigomini



Series: What We Find [2]
Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-09
Updated: 2017-05-09
Packaged: 2018-10-30 02:28:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10867122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indigomini/pseuds/indigomini
Summary: In the end, maybe soulmates can share more than one life together. Drabble written for What We Find.





	I Will Follow You Into The Dark

**Author's Note:**

> **SPOILER FOR WHAT WE FIND BELOW, DO NOT PROCEED IF YOU DO NOT WANT TO BE SPOILED**
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> I actually don't suggest reading this. I wrote this because after What We Find ended, I couldn't let go. I kept thinking about them. But there was no point to adding more to their story. We've seen them get back together, grow, love, and get their thread back. They could survive anything. But I couldn't let go, so this is what happened.
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> A/N: PLEASE do not read this if you have not read What We Find. It's not necessary to understand what's going on here, since this is just a drabble, but it has spoilers for WWF. As for if you've already read WWF, you might not even want to read this, as this is my own personal ending for them, and it might not fit with the actual ending of WWF.

His eyes still haven’t accustomed. There were no storms in the weather report for this week. The power should not be out. But after a few more heavy seconds, Jongin sheds the veneer of confusion. The lack of echoes, the lack of tactile feedback, the lack of... _anything_ , is undeniable. This is not his house.

The ache in his left knee isn’t present as he takes a step forward. Another step into the darkness, bare-footed, over indistinct, flat terrain, and he realizes he is not sniffling either. The cold he had been battling for the better part of a month now is gone. Nerves, old habits, or perhaps instinct, bring his hands together in front of him, his right grazing over the left ring finger.

Red. His thread glows to life, stretching far off into the distance. Jongin covers his gasp with a hand and feels his eyes sting. Forty-eight hours he had gone without his thread. Two days after decades of believing he would never be without it again. His feet move without his doing, hitting the ground soundlessly as he races toward the other end of his string.

He feels strong. Tireless. Tears blur his vision, but there is no wind to sting, no friction, and all he needs is to follow that red path.

Something up ahead. A clump. It’s enough to slow him down, to make him dry his eyes so they can focus. Their bow, their frayed ends. It must be. He can see it a ways off, and it’s enough to put his feet back in motion, knowing― _knowing_ ―that equidistant to him, on the other end, is his heart, two days missing and counting.

His lungs don’t burn. His feet don’t go numb. These motions should come with a cost, especially given his age, but they feel effortless. He looses a laugh as he runs, exhilaration and adrenaline carrying him faster as the bow draws ever closer.

The other end is in sight, the thread shrinking to mere meters now, its tail lifting off the ground, bobbing, moving. “ _Kyungsoo_!” he shouts, his voice shocking himself with how clear it sounds despite it cracking. “Kyungsoo!”

He hears a voice saying something in return, but momentum is against him this time and he barrels right into a soft mass, sending them ass over tea kettle together in a tangled mess of limbs. The pain from the collision is so far from his mind as first contact returns his vision. The darkness is still around them, but he can see the figure before him, as well as himself, as if they were perfectly illuminated by some unseen light.

Jongin chokes on another gasp as familiar eyes meet his. The face… “Kyungsoo,” he whispers, the word tilting up into a question, as if he was actually doubting the possibility. Underneath him is a boy, no older than twenty-five, baby fat still padding his cheeks. His brows are jet black instead of the salt and pepper that Jongin’s mocked for the last decade. His skin is so smooth and flawless. Jongin pokes his cheek in awe, watching it bounce right back as the boy gives him an amused look.

“Hey, baby,” he says, and the voice, while deep, doesn’t carry the refinement that his Kyungsoo has developed over the years. It sounds boyish. Too young. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

Tears―of happiness or shock or horror or _what_ , he doesn’t know―tears spring forth from Jongin’s eyes and fall, landing on an instantly grumpy Kyungsoo’s face. “I-” Jongin coughs, emotions making it so difficult to think, much less _speak_ , “I’m here.”

Soft fingers brush the tears away, and he is kissed before he understands what’s going on and returns it out of a lifetime’s habit. Kyungsoo’s lips are much fuller, much softer, than he remembers, but he tastes, he smells, he _is_ the man Jongin’s spent his life with. “Look at you,” Kyungsoo says against his mouth, planting a kiss on the tip of his nose before pulling back. “You look hot.”

“Bastard,” Jongin says, feigning a glare. “You do too.”

“Your knee’s digging into my balls though,” Kyungsoo adds, voice exaggeratedly strained.

Too easily, they climb to their feet with pain-free joints and unatrophied muscles. He holds onto Kyungsoo’s hand throughout the ordeal, or perhaps Kyungsoo held onto him. They embrace again once upright, Jongin squeezing his shoulders so tightly that he can hear Kyungsoo wheeze into his ear. “You _fucker_ ,” Jongin growls, tears coming again as he buries his face into Kyungsoo’s hair. “You promised to _finally_ watch them with me and you couldn’t even wait until after the Chelsea game.”

Kyungsoo lets out a bark, halfway between a laugh and a sob, and holds him tighter. “Did they win?” he asks.

Jongin joins in on the weird barking chorus, shaking his head pathetically. “I don’t know,” he hiccups.

“I’m sorry,” Kyungsoo says, holding the side of Jongin’s face and pressing another kiss to his lips. He repeats it, in whispers, as he kisses over everywhere he can reach on Jongin’s face. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Through his gasps, Jongin forces out a, “You sound like a squeaky little boy,” prompting a snicker from Kyungsoo, who pinches his chin. They finally look into each other’s eyes again.

“You _look_ like a little baby,” Kyungsoo retorts, caressing his face. “Did we really look like this?”

Jongin had his mouth open to shoot back something clever, but Kyungsoo grabs his hand to bring to his lips, and their thread flashes brightly, blinding them for an instant. Once his vision recovers, they notice a gigantic door to their side, ornate and ancient. Kyungsoo continues the motion anyway, drawing Jongin’s hand up and kissing the ring finger absently as he stares.

They back up in sync as the door slowly creaks open. There is nothingness on the other side. Darkness all around them, but inside the door is not darkness. It is not light. He squeezes Kyungsoo’s hand tightly.

If time existed, half a minute goes by. “Would you say this is a more Heavenly-looking Mysterious Gate or a Hellish one?” Kyungsoo asks, breaking the silence.

“Maybe it’s a Buddhist one,” Jongin offers shakily, watching the door frame. “And it’s a reincarnation gate or something.”

It’s calling to them. He can feel its pull, drawing them to take a collective step toward it. “I don’t want to be reincarnated,” Kyungsoo whispers. “I’d rather go home and watch your stupid match.”

“I don’t know if we’ll have much of a choice,” Jongin murmurs, forcing himself to tear his gaze away from the gate, to look at Kyungsoo’s face. With effort, Kyungsoo turns to look at him as well. “Will you come find me?”

“I’m not going to leave you,” Kyungsoo corrects, squeezing his hand again. “You’re mine.”

One last kiss, one last look at Kyungsoo’s young face, the face he first saw and fell for half a century ago, and they step forward, hands clasped together, into the unknown.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this after listening to Death Cab For Cutie's I Will Follow You Into The Dark. It's a really, really old song, and it's beautiful, and it fits so well.
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> _Love of mine, someday you will die_  
>  But I'll be close behind and I'll follow you into the dark  
> No blinding light or tunnels to gates of white  
> Just our hands clasped so tight, waiting for the hint of a spark  
> If heaven and hell decide that they both are satisfied  
> And illuminate the no's on their vacancy signs  
> If there's no one beside you when your soul embarks  
> Then I'll follow you into the dark  
> In Catholic school as vicious as Roman rule  
> I got my knuckles bruised by a lady in black  
> And I held my tongue as she told me,  
> Son, fear is the heart of love, so I never went back  
> You and me we've seen everything to see  
> From Bangkok to Calgary and the soles of your shoes  
> Are all worn down  
> The time for sleep is now  
> But it's nothing to cry about  
> 'Cause we'll hold each other soon in the blackest of rooms


End file.
